Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board
by justrumbelledearie
Summary: Belle owns a sex shop, and Gold is her landlord. Set within thestraggletag's 'The Tenant' verse (on Tumblr). This occurs several weeks after the first chapter she posted. Want to join in? I think you'll have a smashing good time. Instructions are included with the first chapter.


As a rule, Mr. Gold doesn't favor his tenants with personal visits unless they've fallen behind on their payments. More often, it's _them_ who find _him,_ clutching their envelopes stuffed with twenties, apologizing as they dash through his shop door five minutes before closing.

_"Ever so sorry, Mr. Gold! I needed to stop by the bank."_

_"This is the very last time rent will be late, Mr. Gold! I think business is improving."_

His tenants stammer their apologies, and he glowers at them from behind his wide, glass counter, pocketing their thick envelopes, and the little ritual is repeated month after month, always the same.

Which is why he's absolutely astonished to find himself standing outside Belle's shop the day _before_ her rent is due, wearing his very best suit and holding a small parcel wrapped in butcher's paper.

Attempting to compose himself, Gold examines the cracks in the sidewalk, the green ivy clinging to Leather Bound's stucco exterior, the polished, gold handle of his cane, and the rude graffiti scrawled on a nearby bench. His pulse is racing, and he worries the roof of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, trying to work out a little speech for when he walks through the door. Something offhand. _Blasé._

But not _too_ blasé.

Knowing that he looks like an old fool hesitating outside the brightly painted door, he takes a deep, steadying breath, carefully arranges his face into a mask of nonchalance, and turns the brass doorknob. Within, the shop bell jangles cheerfully, and he finds himself immediately face-to-face with Miss Finley.

Her garish, red hair is drawn up in a high, bouncy ponytail, and she's smiling so hard her face is apt to break in half.

"Why, _Mr. Gold!_ How wonderful that you're back! Can I help you find anything? We just got in a new shipment of these…thingamabobs." She nods downwards at the odd armload she is carrying. Cradled against her chest are what appear to be an assortment of colorful—teething rings? He shudders. It's downright _intimidating,_ the things other people get up to within the privacy of their own bedrooms.

_"Oh!_ And there are also some new…whatzits, over there in the far cabinet." Miss Finley again gestures with her chin, but he studiously avoids looking anywhere but her overeager, ocean-blue eyes

"Thank you, but _no,_ I simply came to—"

"Ariel!" a sweetly familiar voice calls from the back room. There follows the sound of cardboard boxes tumbling to the floor and a sharp, muffled exclamation. It sounds a bit like _"Drat!"_

_"Coming,_ Belle!" the exuberant shop assistant hollers, and quickly turns away, dropping several of the colorful, plastic rings on the floor. The very next moment, she turns back, apologizing, "Oh! Please excuse me, Mr. Gold. I'll be back in a flash. Would you mind terribly…?"

Apologizing profusely, she dumps the plastic rings into the crook of his left arm and dashes off, disappearing behind a rose-colored curtain in the back of the shop.

Blinking, Gold stands stock-still, afraid of unbalancing himself and sending his strange cargo spilling all over Belle's polished, laminate floor.

Once more, the bell above the front door jangles, and he is surprised and embarrassed to see Mr. Hopper, Storybrooke's only therapist, entering Belle's shop. He is smiling, and there is a jaunty bounce to his step.

"Why, Mr. Gold!" Archie exclaims warmly, then falters when he sees the odd assortment of rings the other man is holding, "It's so very nice to…to see you today. Tell me, do you know where Miss French keeps her sexual education books? Kama Sutra and the like? I have a client…"

_"Yes!_—yes," Gold cuts him off, not wanting to hear any more about it. "Right over there, by the…whatzits in the large, wooden display case."

"Much obliged!" Mr. Hopper says cheerfully, and he walks off to peruse the well-stocked bookshelves in the back of the shop.

"Oh, Mr. Gold! I'm so happy you're back!"

Miss French—_Belle_—has finally emerged from the storeroom, holding a decorative pen and a clipboard. Miss Finley is trailing close behind, her red ponytail bouncing cheerfully. "I was just taking an inventory…"

Belle's words trail off as she takes in the armload of colorful rings he has clutched tightly against his chest.

"Did you find everything you were looking for?" she asks hesitantly, "We have plenty more cock rings in the storeroom—different colors, different sizes, even some that vibrate! I just haven't had the chance to lay them all out yet."

"What? No—_no!"_ he exclaims, almost dropping the lot of them. "I mean, _no thank you._ I was only holding them for Miss Finley…"

Belle's berry-red lips quirk upwards at the corners, her dainty eyebrows arch, and she scoops the…_cock rings,_ apparently…out of his left arm and piles them upon the counter near the register.

_Why would anyone ever want to put a ring around his cock? Let alone a colorful, vibrating one? Good God._

_"Is_ there anything I can help you find?" Belle asks, eyeing the small, wrapped package in his right hand. "Or did you come about the rent? Or perhaps—did you come to see me?" She smiles, her blue eyes sparkling.

"No—I mean, _yes,_ I mean…I came to tell you that—that you can deposit your rent at my pawn shop. I have a locked collection box just inside the door…for that purpose. Just—ah, anytime during business hours tomorrow."

Belle grins. "Yes, I _do_ remember that, from your rental agreement. It was quite…thorough. _Oh!_—and I've been wanting to thank you for the other night, Mr. Gold."

He swallows.

"At the town council meeting? Mayor Mills looked as though she wanted to eat me alive, but when you interrupted her and read aloud from the town charter…"

He clears his throat and stares at his polished shoes. "It was nothing. More people should familiarize themselves with the codes and bylaws of Storybrooke. _Especially_ Madame Mayor."

"Well, it was something to _me,"_ she laughs, and then excuses herself when Archie approaches the cash register holding a thick book with a glossy, black cover.

"Mr. Hopper!" she exclaims, obviously delighted to see him, "Your special order arrived just this morning. One moment, and I'll fetch it from the back room!"

Belle hurries off, and both gentlemen study the rose-colored walls, pretending to be elsewhere.

"Here it is!" Belle announces, emerging from behind the curtain and holding a garment bag. And it's _lovely!"_

She and Archie share a happy, conspiratorial smile, and the tall gentleman waggles his fingers at little Miss Finley on the way out the shop door. "See you later tonight, Ariel!" he calls, and Miss Finley beams, nearly toppling a display of rubber ducks and rabbits.

Mr. Gold suspects there are more to the rubber ducks and rabbits than meets the eye.

He does not intend to ask about them.

Clearing his throat, he glances down at the package in his right hand, and Belle's eyes follow his nervous gaze.

She is twirling her pen back and forth between her fingertips, and it is quite distracting. Blooming from the top of her ballpoint is a large, white plume, the swishiest, softest feather Gold has ever seen. It sways and flutters as she brushes it thoughtfully against the underside of her lovely chin.

"Is that…for me?" Belle asks, biting her lower lip and smiling.

"Ah—yes, it _is_ actually," he stutters, trying his damndest to remember his little speech from before. "Do you remember, after the council meeting, how we got to talking…and you compared Ms. Mills to evil Baba Yaga from one of your favorite storybooks as a girl?"

Belle snorts, amused: "Oh yes. I certainly remember."

"Well, it just so happens that I had in my shop…"

They are interrupted by a thump against Leather Bound's plate glass window. Cupping her hand over narrowed, heavily made-up eyes and peering into the shop is none other than Mayor Mills herself.

"Speak of the devil," Gold mutters, and Belle makes a startled little noise, exclaiming, "How odd!"

She hurries to the front door and invites Ms. Mills inside. Miss Finley peeks out from behind a display of sky-high heels and feather boas, looking concerned.

"I hope everything looks…up to code, Mayor Mills?" Belle asks uncertainly, taking in the woman's form-fitting, red power suit, glossy lips, and matching pumps.

Despite the provocative outfit, Ms. Mills's confidence seems to have flagged since the council meeting. "Yes, er, Miss French. Everything seems to be in order. I appreciate your keeping the front displays so…sedate."

The mayor's eyes dart over to where Gold is standing in the middle of the shop, leaning upon his cane. "Mr. Gold," she spits out, looking over his shoulder and narrowing her eyes at the redhead now hiding behind the sheer, ribbon-trimmed nighties. "Miss Finley."

"Madame Mayor," he replies, voice oozing contempt, and Gold wonders why it's so _easy_ to put on this mask for everyone in this blasted town—everyone but the girl he wants to impress.

Ms. Mills turns her back on him and speaks to Belle in a voice so low he can barely make it out: "There actually _was_ a reason I stopped by today, aside from morbid curiosity. Henry has been asking…some questions. Some very…_particular_ questions…and with Storybrooke's library fallen into disuse…"

"Say no more!" Belle exclaims, looking relieved. "I have _just_ the book for your son! It's matter-of-fact, not too much information all at once, tastefully done illustrations, a bit of humor…"

She leads Ms. Mills to the back of the shop, and Gold watches the two women from the corner of his eye. Belle is straightaway engaged in friendly, animated conversation regarding the topic of young boys and sexual education, and he reflects it is truly _remarkable_ how quickly she has forgiven the other woman her bad behavior. Belle seems to be very…magnanimous.

It crosses his mind that perhaps she would be equally forgiving of a man out of practice with courtship and…all that follows.

He brushes the thought quickly aside.

At last, the mayor is rung up and on her way home to her unlucky son with a bagful of books that will certainly make young Henry blush when he finds them on his bed later tonight.

Belle turns her attention back to Gold.

"We were interrupted," she says, looking bemused, and he cannot help but smile back—a _real_ smile that crinkles his eyes, and it feels strange on his face, as though he hasn't used these particular muscles in years.

"Yes, well, what I was saying was—I happened to have that particular collection of fairy tales in my shop, and, well—if you'll have it?"

He holds out the book, wrapped in its plain, brown paper, and she takes it gingerly in both hands, looking a bit overcome. After carefully unwrapping it and trailing her fingers over the ornate dust jacket, Belle hugs the volume to her chest and _beams_ up at him.

_"Thank you!"_ she breathes, and he feels his face flush hot, quite unused to being the object of a beautiful woman's grateful, admiring stare.

"It's—ah, you're welcome," he fumbles and quickly pivots with his cane, intending to head for the door.

"Wait!" Belle exclaims, and rushes over to the front counter. She snatches up a pretty little business card, printed on the same lovely rose color as the shop walls, and hastily scribbles something on the back with her fanciful feather pen.

Hurrying back to him, she tucks the card into his front pocket, still holding her pen, and the plume brushes against his jawline, sending a shiver up his ramrod-straight spine.

"I thought maybe…you could call me sometime?" she offers. "That's my mobile number, in your pocket. It would be lovely to see you more often than just the first of the month." She grins, and he stammers something foolish and incoherent, staring at the polished floor, and fidgeting with his cane.

Then, to his utter astonishment, Belle lifts her feathered pen and trails it downwards along his hot, flushed cheek.

"Just to be clear," she murmurs, smiling a most _beguiling_ smile while brushing the feather slowly downwards over his throat and collar, "I'm speaking of a _date._ I'd love to go out with you on a _date."_

Her lovely eyes hold his, and she withdraws the feather from where it's now resting against his striped, silk tie, stroking the plume beneath her own pretty chin. Belle is biting her full lower lip and looking hopeful.

There is a dreadful clatter somewhere off behind them, and they both turn to see Miss Finley kneeling on the floor, surrounded by adult educational videos.

Perhaps he should look into purchasing one of them.

Perhaps someday when Belle is _not_ working the register.

Somewhat relieved that the spell has been broken, he bids the women a hasty goodbye and hopes that Belle has the good grace not to look down and notice the way his is currently tenting his trousers. _Thank God_ he's wearing dark fabric, and _thank God_ he's able to keep his cane in front of him for a bit of disguise.

"Goodbye, Mr. Gold!" Belle calls after him. She is now kneeling on the floor with her clumsy shop assistant, her shapely little bottom stuck up in the air. "I'll drop off the rent tomorrow!"

As quickly as his bad ankle will allow him, Gold limps back to his shop and rips down the "Back in 10 Minutes" sign. He flips his "Open" sign to "Closed," locks the pawn shop door, and finally allows himself to exhale.

He feels _woozy,_ walking to the back of his shop, leaning heavily upon his cane, still hard and straining within his trousers. With a relieved, weary sigh, he collapses onto the high chair behind his sturdy work table.

Staring down at the obscene hump in his expensive pants, he grunts in disgust. Belle has him standing at attention like some damn _teenager._ And she never even _touched_ him. Not really.

He switches on an antique radio, realizing now why he came back here and not wanting to hear his own heavy breathing and soft groans fill up this quiet room. It's—_humiliating._

He recalls the feeling of the downy feather against his stubbled cheek and chin, then summons up Belle's full, smiling lips, telling him in no uncertain terms she'd like to go out with him. On a date. He conjures the tantalizing swell of her breasts beneath the demure, yellow blouse she was wearing today and the way her slim, checked skirt hugged her generous thighs.

Sighing, he gives himself a careful, tentative rub through the soft fabric of his pants and then sucks in his breath.

He always does…_this_ in the shower, with water and soap making everything easy and slick, and the hot, rushing water washing away all evidence that it ever happened. It makes it easier to pretend he's something other than a lonely old man whom nobody ever cares to touch.

But—_Belle_ wants to touch. She as much as told him so today. And he doesn't _want_ a shower right now. He wants to feel the feather against his skin and to see her blue eyes smiling up at him. He needs the sound of her lilting, caressing voice in his ear telling him she's _so happy_ to see him.

Not allowing himself to so much as stop and think, Gold reaches into his trouser pocket for his out-of-date mobile phone, accidentally brushing his shaking fingertips against his swollen cock. He hisses and grits his teeth, then hastily reaches into his front pocket for Belle's number.

She answers cheerily on the second ring, and he sucks in his breath, his heart pounding. He'll sound like such a fool, calling her not five minutes after he saw her last to ask her out. He'll likely sound like a desperate, _lonely_ old fool—which is exactly what he feels like when he's around her. And, anyway, he can't hang up now.

"Belle! Uh, hello. It's—it's Gold. From earlier?"

She laughs, obviously happy to hear his voice, and he relaxes just a little. Yes, she was hoping it was him. She's so glad he called.

"I was…I was thinking maybe we could get some dinner together this Saturday? Uh, do you like hamburgers?"

_Do you like hamburgers?_ _Just_ w_hat sort of ridiculous line was that? God._

Belle_ adores _hamburgers, and Belle would_ love _to see him this Saturday. Seven o'clock is perfect. And she's still looking forward to seeing him at his shop tomorrow.

After hanging up, out of breath, Gold realizes with a flash of shame that he's been unconsciously brushing his fingers over his erect cock while they spoke, trying to calm his nerves. How _perverse._ What a _mess_ he is, completely undone by kind words from a pretty little cupid's bow of a mouth.

Imagining that smiling, berry-red mouth, he draws a blue silk pocket square from his suit pocket and trails it over the hot skin of his cheek, remembering Belle's feather. It feels _extraordinary._

Holding Belle's flirtatious gaze in his mind's eye, Gold trails the thin silk along his sensitive throat, then hastily unbuttons and unzips his tented trousers, eager to feel the same silky softness against his aching cock.

Would she…use a feather in the bedroom? _Do_ people do such things?

He doesn't think it would tickle horribly, if applied to the right…spot.

He sucks in his breath sharply while he lifts his hard sex out of his cotton briefs and traces it with a corner of the pocket square.

Gripping the thick edge of his wooden table, he wraps the blue silk around his cock and begins to rock and pump. Slowly at first, then—almost immediately—rougher and quicker, his breath coming in hard, juddering gasps.

The thin silk begins to bunch and crumple in his sweaty palm, but he's too far gone to break his rhythm and toss it away. He's thinking of the swell of Belle's breasts beneath her blouse—what it would be like to brush her nipples with the white feather until they're hard and pebbled, and she's arching her back and begging him to bring her off.

_Oh God._

What it would be like to dip his head between those pale, generous thighs and lick her. Make her moan his name.

_Oh yes._

Using a tighter grip than he's ever tried before, Gold works himself mercilessly, imagining Belle's perfect breasts, Belle's perfect hips, Belle's pink, open mouth—bracing himself against the work table, his long hair falling forward and his eager grunts mercifully muffled by the strains of classical music.

With a loud _"Ah!"_ he bares his teeth and goes rigid and still, pulsing into the blue silk in his hand and and moaning deeply, gratefully.

A moment later, his phones rings. It's Belle's number. He's already committed it to memory.

"Hello—ah, _Belle?"_ he gasps, trying to get control of his ragged voice.

"Hello! Me again. I was thinking—why wait for Saturday? I've brought over the rent money and some ice cream, but it looks like I already missed you. May I come by your house?"

"No—I mean, _yes,_ anytime, but no, I'm still here. I'm in the shop. I was just, ah…taking an inventory in the back room. I'll be right out."

Gold takes a slow, steadying breath, wipes himself again with the ruined silk, and carefully tucks himself back within his expensive trousers.

_Good God,_ she wants to sit side-by-side licking ice cream cones?

This woman is going to be the death of him.


End file.
